Mist of Memory
by JoyfullyWaywardCupcake
Summary: Adam Pierson and a friend stay at Joe Dawson's place for a while. The Watcher can't resist the chance to have some questions answered at last.
1. Chapter 1

_Inspired by a Highlander fic (Ace in the Hole by LadySilver) where Joe Dawson beat Methos at poker and won the chance to ask for information. It got me thinking of other questions the Watcher might ask of an Immortal._  
 _I own nothing but my OFC, Rona Dubois. The title of this fic comes from a song in the TV series Witchblade.  
Not sure how long this story will be or how often I'll be able to update._

 _Setting: Paris, could be any year in the late 20th or early 21st century (though that might change in later chapters)_  
 _  
Bid goddess rise from mist of memory . . ._

"This apfelwein's nice," Joe Dawson remarked appreciatively to the dark-eyed woman sitting across from him in his dining room. "And this bread and cheese is like nothing I've ever tasted!"

She chuckled briefly. "My pleasure to bring it. The bread's an old recipe, and the cheese . . . No one makes it like that anymore."

He still couldn't place her accent. She sounded French, which made sense as she was fluent in the local language; hints of other lands made their way into some of her words. "Where is it that you're from?" he asked with what he hoped was casual interest in his voice.

"Lots of different places," she replied.

There it was again, the sense that he was looking at her through a fog. He had told himself earlier that it was only the moonlight coming in through the window behind her that made her appear veiled in shadows, but he had been watching Immortals too long not to notice that she was hiding something. She was friends with Adam Pierson, so Dawson figured she'd learned a trick or two from him, but there was something more behind her eyes. She was so guarded. Was it loneliness? Had she been betrayed once too often to trust anyone? Adam hadn't told him much about her, not even if she were an Immortal.

"You all right, Mr Dawson?"

He jerked himself back to the present moment. "Yes. Just thinking. And, please, call me Joe."

"Thinking of what, if I might ask, Joe?"

He paused to consider this. How much had Methos told her about him? For that matter, did she even know that her friend was the legendary oldest living Immortal?

When he didn't answer for a few minutes, she attempted to engage him in conversation once more. "Our good doctor told me you are an historian. Any particular period of history you focus on?"

"Oh, I study all history, Miss Dubois, but, lately, I've been focussing on the last four centuries or so."

She nodded. "Rona, please. Last four centuries . . . Renaissance, Age of Enlightenment, Industrial Revolution . . . So many changes came so rapidly."

"Were you there?" he asked without thinking.

She began to nod, then shook herself. "Whahahaht?" she asked, a smile spreading on her face.

"What, exactly, did Adam tell you about me?"

She gazed at her hand, mindlessly running a finger up and down the glass. "He said that you are an historian and that you are writing a  
biography of a certain Scotsman of the Clan MacLeod. The boy scout, he said. What, um, what did he tell you about me?"

"Oh, that you were an old friend of his and he'd appreciate it if I showed you around town. Said you'd been on your own for a while and could use some rest. I have the spare bedroom, so it's no problem."

 _Some rest._ There it was. There was the feeling that she'd been unable to put her finger on as she'd come down the street to this house. It was similar to the feeling she got whenever she returned to the land of her birth.

This house had been built on holy ground. _Ancient_ holy ground, at that. She wondered if Joe were aware of this bit of the history of his house.

"Rest. Yes. I've been travelling so much lately that I've been needing to feel sturdy ground beneath my feet again. It will be nice to be able to stop for more than a night's -"

The way she tensed and flitted her eyes around told him that another Immortal was approaching. She rushed to her bags, situated in the corner of the living room, and retrieved her sword. Before she could rush out to meet a would-be challenge, Joe answered the knock at the door.

"Candygram!" came the sing-song voice of the man who'd brought them together. "It's all right, Rona; it's just me," he called past Joe's shoulder.

She let out a heavy sigh of relief. She was suffering from jetlag and wasn't much up for a fight.

"Don't worry, dear wife, a young friend of mine is on his way. Anyone comes looking for you, you're safe. Oh, don't worry about Dawson; he's well aware of what we are and the Game. And of who I am."

Her jaw dropped open in disbelief.

Methos smiled wistfully. "After all these years, Rona, it's good to know I can still leave you speechless."

* * *

Several minutes later, they were in the dining room, snacks and drinks spread out before them.

"So, Methos, I have to ask . . . You called Rona dear wife when you came in. You two actually married or is it simply a term of affection?"

Methos glared at his beer. He couldn't believe he had slipped up so easily.

"Term of affection, Joe," Rona answered for him, her eyes never leaving Methos's face. "We've known each other for so long that it feels like we're married sometimes."

He accepted that explanation with as much trust as he would have given anything Methos said.


	2. Chapter 2

_This story has been nagging at the back of my head and won't let me rest, so here's the next part._

 _Her heart was locked in a roundtower's keep . . ._

"Well, Rona," Adam slapped his knees before rising. "I'm sure you'd like to get some sleep after your long journey. I'll take your things into the guestroom."

"It's fine, Adam. I can -" She bit back the rest of her protest when she noticed the look he gave her. "Yes, you're right; I should get to bed. Let me just put all this away."

"What was that about?" Joe asked once the old man was out of earshot.

Rona shook her head. "He tends to get overprotective of me when he thinks I'm in danger. Now that he's heard I'm being chased . . ."

"Someone's after you?"

"Possibly. It could be nothing more than a coincidence that he's been in the same cities I've been in the last couple of months."

"Anyone you know?" he asked as he handed her a container for the cheese.

"No. No, I don't think so."

"Could you describe him well enough for me to look for a photo of him?"

Rona gazed at him quizzically. "Why would you have a photo of him?"

"He really didn't tell you, did he?" At her blank stare, he huffed out a sigh. "There's a group of us who know about Immortals and the Game and the Prize - or we have a vague _idea_ about the Prize - and we record your histories. Major events of your lives, who's killed whom, marriages . . ."

"You mean the lot of you are like our unauthorised biographers? You follow us around, even though it's fraught with danger?"

"Pretty much. We observe, record, never interfere. Well, officially, we're not _supposed_ to interfere."

"And the Boy Scout Scotsman you're writing a biography about is . . ."

"Duncan MacLeod, the younger Highlander."

"Ah." She went back to arranging the bread in a large container.

"You know him?"

"Only by reputation. And what Adam's told me."

"Told you about what, Love?" Adam asked as he came back round the corner.

"Your friend, Duncan. Why didn't you tell me how much Joe knew?"

"Oh . . . I didn't want to prejudice you against him before you'd met him for yourself."

Joe smirked. "I guess he wanted me to win you over with my charm."

"Mission accomplished," she added with a grin.

Adam's eyes darted between the two. "Did something happen before I got here?"

They both shook their heads yet appeared to be holding back laughter.

"Fine, don't tell me," Adam murmured. "We should all get some rest. We can figure out who's stalking you tomorrow."

"All right. I'm too tired to argue. I'll see you in the morning, Joe. And thank you."

 _in the guestroom_

"Are you going to tell me what happened, or do I go ask Dawson?" Methos demanded.

She closed her eyes and shook her head slowly. "Nothing happened. We just talked, and not even about much, at that."

"What did you talk about?"

"He thanked me for the apfelwein and the bread and cheese. And we talked about you."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Right. The bloke chasing you -"

"Could just be a coincidence."

"What are the odds of that?"

"People travel, Methos. He could be a random guy who just happens to be in the same city I am recently. He's never approached me. If he were a headhunter, we would have heard something about that wouldn't we?" Part of her wished she hadn't called him about this, but she preferred to err on the side of caution.

He mulled that thought for several moments. "Yeah, you're right. I'll have Joe look into that in the morning. Let him know all the places you've seen him. You might need to describe him to narrow down the possibilities."

"So this group of mortals who know about us and keep track of us - You trust them?"

"I used to work for them."

"Sounds like there's a story there, husband."

"Yeeeah . . . I - I made my way into the organisation so I could keep track of anyone I didn't want to run into. I got myself put in charge of the Methos Project."

"You have your own project?"

"Yeah. I was in charge of finding myself, and I made sure it never happened. Can you imagine if it got out, among mortals or Immortals, that the mythical oldest living Immortal was real? I had to leave for a while for the obvious reasons."

"Never aging. Never getting sick or wounded. Story of our lives, isn't it? Always moving. And this friend of yours who's coming to lend a sword?"

"Richard Ryan. He has to keep a low-profile here, though; he died rather publicly some time back."

"What happened?"

"Accident on the racetrack. Lots of people around. He hasn't been back in Paris since, except for one time, and that was under an alias and a bit of a disguise. He avoided running into anyone who knew him before."

"How young is he?"

"Mid-twenties. I've sparred with him; he's pretty good with a couple of different blades. He has the fire in him."

She nodded. "Good. If you trust him, I trust him."

He settled into bed next to her, his bag within reach, and let himself drift off to sleep soon after he was sure she had.

 _in the morning_

Adam awoke, roused by the sensation of another Immortal approaching, unsure of where he was for a moment. _'Rona.'_ He realised she wasn't beside him and jerked himself out of bed.

Rona was emerging from the kitchen, a rather large knife still in her hand. "Your friend?" she mouthed.

He lifted a shoulder and went to the door to peer out. He lifted his sword and eased the door open.

"Whoa. Hey, man. I thought you called me out here to help," an American accented voice drifted in.

Adam chuckled. "Good to see you, Richie! Come on in. This is Rona Dubois. Rona, this is Richard Ryan."

"Ah, it's Ryan Shores now. Miss Dubois, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Mr Shores . . . You're the one I've been seeing everywhere I go."

Adam's eyebrows shot up. "W- Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure. This isn't exactly a face I'd forget," she replied, a blush slowly working its way up her face.

"You thought I was following you?" Richie asked, bemused.

She bit her lip. "I saw you in Dusseldorf. And Athens. Venice. Hong Kong."

He nodded. "So you got worried. Makes sense. Now that you know you're not in danger -"

"This is still a good place to get some rest," Adam interjected. "For all of us."

"Right," Rona concurred. "If you'll excuse me, I should get back to making breakfast."

"I'll lend a hand," Richie offered.

"That would be much appreciated."


	3. Chapter 3

Ryan Shores chopped vegetables while Rona arranged hash browns in a hot skillet. "You always make such fancy omelettes for your friends?" he asked with a smile.

"Hardly," she replied with a laugh. "I never was any good at flipping and folding them, so I stick to frittatas. And pancakes. If I had thought to bring along my waffle iron, though, we could be having those instead."

"Mmm, can't beat a good waffle. Warm syrup. Some fresh fruit on the side. Cup of cafe au lait . . ."

"Man after my own heart. Hand me that plate, would you, dear?"

"Here we go. Oh, man, those pancakes smell great! So buttery and perfectly golden brown. Say, why isn't Methos helping out with all this?" he asked while he poured the vegetables into a sauté pan.

"Oh, he wanted to talk to Joe about something. Now that he knows I'm not in danger, I suppose he's been able to relax."

"Riiiight. I don't think I've ever known Methos to relax."

"No, you're right, there, Mr Shores. I meant . . . He's able to relax as much as he is able to. And we are on holy ground, after all."

"We are? I wonder why Joe's never mentioned that."

"It's ancient holy ground, probably long forgotten before the Romans arrived. You're good at that," she added, eyeing the vegetable melange he was tossing.

"Hm? Oh, thanks, I took a cooking class when I was in Italy. Let me have the eggs, will you, hon? Pour this in, give it a little stir . . . I'll check the hash browns . . . Few more minutes, and we'll be able to sit and have a nice, friendly breakfast."

Several minutes later, the four were seated around the table, digging into plates piled high with scrumptious foods.

"Oh, wow! This is amazing!" Joe enthused. "You know, if the two of you always cook like this when you get together, I might have to keep you both around for a while."

Rona chuckled; Ryan lifted his cup of coffee in a salute.

Methos nodded. "I must say, I do think the pair of you work well together. I could get used to this."

"Well, you know how I like to putter about in the kitchen, husband," Rona reminded him.

"Yes, I know that all too well, wife."

Ryan sputtered and coughed. "H-husband? Wife? You two are married?"

"Nah, it's a term of affection," Joe explained.

Rona glanced away. "We've known each other a - a very long time."

Methos let out a weary sigh. "All right, it's more than that. Shall I tell them, dear, or do you want to?"

Panic streaked across her face for the briefest of moments. "Are you sure? How do you know this won't all end up in some Watchers' Chronicles?"

"Anything you say, I take with me to the grave. Oh, I might let slip a line or two about something so long ago, it wouldn't affect you now . . . Who'd believe it, anyway? _'Oh, yeah, I let three Immortals stay at my place for a few days and they shared the secrets of their lives with me.'_ "

She eyed him speculatively before turning her attention back to her old friend.

"He's never told them who I really am. I trust him."

"In that case, so do I. All right, Joe, Ryan . . . Yes, Methos and I are married. We were very young - even by mortal standards - and, somehow, we managed to remain friends throughout the centuries."

"Is that why you said you'd never marry an Immortal, Methos?" Joe asked, an eyebrow arched. "You had said it would be too much of a commitment, but . . ."

"It would be," he murmured. "Rona's how I'm so sure I couldn't promise forever. We spend a couple of decades together, then go our separate ways, but we always keep in touch. Any other woman would've taken my head ages ago."

"Wow. Nowhere in anything that's been written of Methos, the legendary oldest Immortal, has there ever been a mention of a wife. Not an Immortal one. Not one that's still alive."

Methos flinched.

"Oh." Joe slapped himself on the forehead. "I - I'm sorry, Methos. I shouldn't have - I wasn't thinking."

Methos shook his head. "I know. It just - It still hurts when I remember she's gone. I'm fine."

Rona reached for his hand. "Methos -"

"I said I'm fine. Please, continue with your questions, Joe; I'm sure you have quite a few of them."

"Right. Yeah. There is something I've wondered about. What does a Quickening feel like? I've seen a few of them, but what is it like to . . . absorb one?"

Ryan's eyebrows knitted together as he tried to find the words.

Rona found them first. "It's . . . How do I put it? . . . What's the best drink you've ever had? Remember how it felt when you took that first sip, and the flavour filled your mouth, that slow burn as it made its way down, that heady feeling that cascaded through your body . . ."

"It was like waves on the shore at sunset, that's what it tasted like."

The three Immortals nodded in agreement. "Yeah . . ."

Rona continued, "Well, the end of a quickening is like that, sort of like a sensory dessert."

"And the main course is?" Joe prompted.

"Like being electrocuted. Oh. Right. Ummmm . . . I could compare it to . . . that shock you get from touching someone after walking along carpet, but all over and through you and surrounding you."

"It's a cloud of static electricity?"

"Pretty much. Only bigger. I mean the sensations are bigger. As though your body wants to expand and reach out to touch everything in the universe at once. It's a strange state of being, to feel so connected to everything that way. For a brief moment, I feel like I could touch the sky and taste the moonlight and see all of time." She shook herself from her reverie. "It's like a waterfall of music washing over you, and some songs are better than others."

"Music. Now, that, I can understand. What about memories? Do you always get your opponents memories, or are some stronger than others?"

"I've heard of some becoming overwhelmed by the new memories, where one might take on aspects of the personality. In my experience, they were images, fleeting, but they become part of me. If I wanted to, I could probably search my mind and find bits of history that the world has forgotten."

Joe perked up at that. "Do you think you might ever be willing to?"

"It - Well, it is not the safest thing for me to do. Some whose heads I have taken . . . They weren't the calmest of people."

"I can vouch for that," Methos added.

Ryan piped up. "How is that you've managed to stay off the Watchers' radar for so long?"

"One learns to stay in the shadows. To become forgettable. Even when I was waiting tables in a diner in Texas a few years ago and I had regular customers . . . They wouldn't know me now."

"I don't see how anyone could forget you."

She blushed. "With our kind, it would not do to forget a face."

"True."

"So, uh, what about the Buzz? What's that like?" Joe steered the conversation back.

Ryan was able to answer that one. "You know that prickly feeling at the back of your neck when someone's staring?"

"Plus a bit of feeling as though you're just a little off-balance," she added. "Some get dizzy; some get a headache."

"Some sneeze. It's the slight change in the electrical charge in the air, I think," Methos added wryly.

They all laughed at that notion.

Joe took a long sip of his coffee before getting back to his queries. "Rona, I have to ask (even though I figure you'll say you can't remember that far back) . . . What did you do in your pre-Immortal life? Where did you grow up?"

"Why would you think - Oh. Methos, have you been spouting that old line about everything blurring before a certain point in your life?"

He inclined his head. "Guilty. I told MacLeod that, before the first head I took, it's all a bit of a blur, yes."

She grinned and shook her head. "Well, we're all friends here." She gazed across the table at Ryan, then over at Joe. "I was trained as a priestess on the island of Naxos. I learned to bake and to craft pottery along with the rituals of my village."

"Naxos. In the Mediterranean. When was that?"

" _Joe_ ," Methos rebuked a bit too sharply.

"Sorry, man, but I'm curious. Between the two of you, there's ten thousand years of history waiting to be unlocked. Do you really think I could keep from asking?"

He let out a sigh that sounded like he'd been holding it for the better part of five thousand years, then gestured with his hand as if to say, "Fine, go ahead."

"Thank you, Methos," Rona drily remarked. "It is difficult to pinpoint the exact years, Joe, as the calendar has changed, oh, so many times since then. But I saw Zeus's bolt strike the lizard and make it Stendia. We saw Theseus on his journey home. We saw the rise of what you now call the Minoan civilisation."

Joe held up his hands. "Wait a minute. Are you saying - Are you seriously telling me that you are older than even the Cyclades civilisation?" He placed his fingertips at his temples and closed his eyes.

Methos drained his coffee and rose. "See, this is why I didn't want to tell him. It's too much to take in."

"No," the Watcher protested. "It's a lot, yeah, but not - I just need to wrap my head around this. If what you say is true, then you're both far older than the five thousand you've been claiming."

Methos grinned sardonically. "Yeah, well, I once said I was five thousand, and it kind of stuck. When I had to go into hiding, I couldn't very well correct people on my age, now, could I? I was already a target for the things I'd done; my age only made my Quickening more enticing. Can you imagine if anyone knew about her?"

"What do you mean?" Ryan asked softly.

"All my training, my knowledge of ancient rites. There are some who would be very keen to take all that, and not in the way Joe wants it. Methos's power would mean greater abilities and much knowledge; mine would lead to darkness."

"Darkness?" Ryan scoffed.

She nodded. "Anyone who would take my head -" She took a shaky breath. "It would have to be someone seeking such immense power . . . What I have in me could lead to that power. And that would plunge the world into darkness. That is why I try to stay to holy ground."

"Okay. That makes sense. But how have you managed to keep your head all these years?" Ryan couldn't resist asking.

She smiled sadly. "I am good with a blade, but I avoid the fights that are unnecessary. I live, grow stronger, fight another day. I live one day at a time, like we all do. It's all any of us can do."

They all remained silent for a minute.

"Rona," Ryan broke the silence. "Earlier, you said this is holy ground. Is that something you remember from your travels or . . ."

She closed her eyes before answering. "I can feel it. I hear what happened here. It's near an underground stream. The stream wasn't underground in those days. It was a place for weary travellers to rest and refresh themselves." She blinked a few times as she brought herself back to the present.

"How do you do that?" Joe whispered.

"Part of my training. My family said I had been graced by Apollo."

"More like Hermes," Methos muttered.

"No, dear, that was you," she retorted with a smile.

"If you were a priestess, how were you able to marry?" Joe asked.

Methos sat back down, his plate and cup refilled. "We were both young. I was barely fifteen winters old, and she was nearing her thirteenth. It was decided that, as I had also been graced by a god, we should bring our gifts together and ensure the prosperity of our people."

Rona smiled as the memory washed over her. "We journeyed from island to island, performing the rituals and hearing the requests of those who came to witness our visits. If we could, we would advise them about which plant to use for what ailed them or an incense to banish wickedness from a child. It was a good life."

"Somehow, I can't imagine Methos on a boat," Joe admitted.

Methos made a sound.

"No, in those days, he didn't mind it. The boats were not that small and our time on the water -"

"Ugh, please. No more talk of seafaring."

"I'm sorry, my love."

"Overseeing the building of the temples was nice, though."

"Temples?" Ryan echoed.

Methos nodded. "We came up with some ideas about a building where people could come and get the help they needed. Sort of like a modern teaching hospital and house of worship rolled into one. It wasn't really a new concept, but the way we set it up was new to them."

"Wow. Do any of them still stand?"

"Some do, but they are mere ghosts, echoes of what they once were," Rona informed him. "The best ones have yet to be found by modern eyes. Perhaps, one day, I might take you to see them, if you like."

"Oh, I should like that very much. Thank you."

"It would be my pleasure, Ryan. Oh, Joe, you said you might let slip a line or two about our past? I have a journal that might be of interest to you. I'll need to translate it, but I think you'll find it . . . enlightening."

His face broke out in a grin. "I'm honoured that you would trust me that much. Breakfast was wonderful; you'll have to let me make it up to you later. I have to get down to the bar in a bit. Deliveries coming in today."

"Of course," Methos responded. "Don't worry about this; we'll clean up."

"Thanks, old man."

"Don't mention it."

"Well, I think I will have one more pancake and a little more coffee," Ryan announced. "Rona, can I get you anything?"

"Oh," she gasped, pleasantly surprised. "Yes. Coffee, thank you."

Methos eyed the two and couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at the way their eyes sparkled when they looked at each other. "I think I'm done here," he murmured as he carried his plates to the sink.

"Any plans for today?" Rona asked.

"No. Oh! Yes. Yes, I forgot, I'm supposed to meet someone about a museum exhibit. I have to be there in an hour and it's clear across town. Bloody hell, don't want to be late."

"Right. Well, have fun, husband. Not too much fun!"

He gave her a cheeky grin before heading down the hallway to change.

"That man never changes."

"No? From what I heard, he's changed a lot over the centuries."

She tilted her head. "You've heard of the Horsemen."

"Duncan told me. But you see in him the same man you married, don't you?"

"He always adapted. So do I. It's how we've survived. The whole _when in Rome, do as the Romans do_ sort of lifestyle."

"You must have seen so many places."

"Many places, many times, many people. Oh, I could tell you such stories. Maybe later."

"Tonight? Over dinner? If you don't already have plans, I mean. Say, we could go to Joe's bar, listen to some music, and you can tell me any part of your life you want to."

"I think I should like that. And you can tell me any part of your life you want to."

 _I didn't expect this chapter to go so long, but there it is. Thanks for sticking with it. I had intended for Methos and Rona to have originally been from Mesopotamia, but the idea of him going from island to island popped up in my head._  
 _As for her real name, well, that's a story for another day._


End file.
